A Study In Silence
by gallifyres
Summary: Seven one-shots showing how the seven people who all mattered the most to one Sherlock Holmes had to deal with a sudden, unwanted silence in their own unique way. Seven oneshots that do not need to be read together, and are best served warm, with a topping of angst and a cup of quietness.
1. A

**Anthea wasn't used to this.**

Not just the loss of talk from and about Mr. Holmes' younger brother, but also the silence that only seemed to exude ever more from Mycroft.

Truth be told, once Mycroft had explained to her about the various options that could occur upon the rooftop of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, she had rested her head into her hands, wondering _how in the world can I pull this off?_

Not two weeks later, Operation Lazarus was set into motion, commanded by Anthea herself.

It all a bit of a blur, immediately afterwards, but the weight of what she had lead struck Anthea in the stomach as she stood at the (false) funeral, dressed in her typical black office attire, watching out at the ones who had known Sherlock Holmes the best.

You see, Anthea did not have the deducing skill that the Holmes did, but there was no need for that, when the pain was so clearly illustrated

She didn't see a frustrated, exhausted officer- she saw a man who grieved over the genius who he had saved once, but had failed to rescue another time.

She didn't see a landlady or a housekeeper- she saw a mother weeping over the son who she would be gone without.

She didn't see the timid pathologist- she saw a woman keeping a secret that was bursting to get out; a woman who had lost the love of her life after keeping him in her sight and care for so long.

She didn't see a strong army doctor- she saw a broken, lost man who had to deal with the loss of his other half; a man who lost the person who mattered the most to him, a man who had nowhere to go.

And Anthea did not see the cold exterior of a British government official- she saw the warring sides of Mycroft Holmes: one of brotherly compassion (which, believe it or not, he was prone to exuding) and the other of duty to the government he was so much attached to.

Anthea believed that she was the least qualified person to be attending Sherlock Holmes' funeral- not when the others had suffered so much: too much: for a simple friendship.

So she stood by the tree, shivering, and wished for an umbrella to shield her from the rain and the pain that was thick in the air, reminding herself that this silence that hurt was essential to the survival of Great Britain- reminding herself that this was essentially _for the greater good._

But somehow, she just _couldn't_ manage to convince herself of that fact as a single tear slipped down her face.

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 _A/N: So! This is the opening oneshot to_ A Study In Silence _, which is basically seven oneshots, each one focusing on a different character, and looking into how they're going to deal with the "Reichenbach Fall"._

 _Please **review, follow, or favorite!**_


	2. G Lestrade

**He couldn't believe it.**

There was no way that Sherlock Fucking Holmes had gone and gotten himself _killed_ , of all things.

It was impossible for that _hell_ of a genius to get himself killed.

True, James Moriarty had been a slippery little spider- possibly one of the most dangerous men in England- but Lestrade had always believed in Sherlock Holmes.

He remembered the time that he found Sherlock- barely an adult, at that point- weak and sick in an alley. Lestrade was very proud of that- he reckoned that without his own intervention, Sherlock probably wouldn't have been to the point where he was today.

Actually, now that Greg thought about it, maybe it was better that he hadn't stumbled upon that bloodied, shivering, scared, and completely drug-filled kid in the dark alleyway.

Maybe Sherlock wouldn't be dead.

Greg couldn't put the two together: the word _dead_ and _Sherlock_ simply didn't work.

He was- had been- too clever and too arrogant for his and John's own good.

John himself was not looking good- Greg could tell that he was slowly, gently eroding on the inside while keeping up the outer appearance of a strong captain.

Greg couldn't believe it when a text from Sherlock's brother came in.

Even at the funeral, Lestrade remained in utter disbelief.

Two months later, Greg sat at Speedy's and _still_ could not even comprehend how Sherlock Holmes was dead.

Lestrade sighed, and breathed in, and out. He did it twice more.

Again and again, over and over, until one day it was accompanied by a cigarette.

 _Smoke, breathe, go till the end. Repeat._

It was a lonely life, and without Sherlock and John to keep him occupied as well as give him close company, the deafening sound of silence, boredom, guilt, and smoke settled in.

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 _Reviews are highly appreciated._


	3. M Hudson

**She thought that this couldn't be possible.**

 _Her_ Sherlock, dead?

 _Her_ John, broken?

Martha Hudson shook her head in the absurdity of it all. How in the _world_ was Sherlock dead? And what was all of this nonsense of John moving out?

She thought back to one day, when she had been abducted by those _horrid_ men, when they were chasing some woman's phone.

John had instructed her to leave, but Sherlock shook his head, saying, " _Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall!_

Mrs. Hudson sat down in her little flat of 221A Baker Street and tapped her foot repeatedly, hand shaking as she placed down her cup of tea.

And she knew it, then.

It wouldn't be an issue if _she_ left her little flat.

But she knew that if _Sherlock and John_ left their abode in Baker Street…

Then England would _truly_ fall, just as Sherlock did, off of the hospital building.

Deep, deep down, however, Mrs. Hudson knew that her boys' time couldn't be up.

Not yet.

Somehow, they'd return to where everything began… right there in 221 Baker Street.

And so she rose from her chair, swiping at her eyes where tears had involuntarily fell.

Martha Hudson might be grieving woman, but she was a woman who had work to do.

Martha Hudson was going to make Baker Street ready if- well, not if, but _when_ \- her boys came back.

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" _T_ _hings we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect_ _."_

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 _Reviews are greatly appreciated._


	4. M Hooper

**She wasn't sure if she could remain silent for so long.**

Silence was a lovely thing- most of the time. The petite pathologist experienced much of it inside her little morgue, where there really wasn't much to discuss with her patients as they were all- well, they were dead.

But she had been entrusted with an extremely important job by Sherlock's brother, and she was absolutely determined to remain silent.

It was the damn hardest thing she had ever had to do.

Even in her first days as an intern hadn't been as hard as keeping silent.

Molly tried- oh, she was trying very hard indeed to not break.

But it was difficult, as she saw John completely snap as Sherlock fell.

It was hard, as she saw Greg slowly drifting out of focus, out of focus of life.

It pained her as she saw Mrs. Hudson trying to hang on as she lost both of her boys.

And as for Molly herself, it was difficult, seeing Sherlock go and seeing him fake his death.

Molly flashed back to when the Holmes brothers had asked for her help.

 _"So… we're going to fake your death," she stated, addressing Sherlock flatly and without any hint of incredulity, once Mycroft had finished explaining Operation Lazarus to her._

 _Sherlock had frowned._

 _"Yes, I thought that was quite clear," he replied._

 _"You're going to just… go? Not even a goodbye?"_

 _"Well, of course there would be a goodbye. It'd be staged, of course, but I would still say farewell."_

 _"And John and the others… they wouldn't know?"_

 _"No, Dr. Hooper." Mycroft had stepped in, waving Sherlock out of the room._

 _"We couldn't let any of them know- what my brother is participating in is extremely dangerous- it involves James Moriarty, whom I am sure that you are familiar with."_

 _Molly shuddered. "Go on."_

 _"Moriarty is targeting many of my brother's close relations. For some reason, however, he chose not to target you and instead went for DI Lestrade. You are instrumental in this because Moriarty doesn't suspect you."_

 _Molly nodded, questions of her own bubbling up._

 _"And you. Are you just going to let Sherlock go? Will you let your own brother die? Are you willing to possibly give up Sherlock's life?" she asked._

 _Mycroft's face went even stonier than usual, if that was possible._

 _"Dr. Hooper, this is not your place to ask about my own emotions. What I am doing right now has no basis in sentiment."_

 _Mycroft sighed. "I am asking you, Dr. Hooper, that if Operation Lazarus does indeed go into motion, that you will assist me. Assist my brother. Assist us in helping…"_

 _"In telling the world that Sherlock Holmes is dead," she had whispered, tasting the words on her lips and feeling the strangeness of it._

 _Of all things, Molly Hooper had never expected to say that Sherlock Holmes was dead._

 _She never wanted to be one of the people who knew otherwise and had to keep it locked into her mind._

 _Once Anthea had dropped Molly back off in her flat, Molly had paced for a good quarter-hour, wondering what she was to do. Finally, she shut her eyes and asked herself some questions._

Do I love him?

Am I willing to do this if I love him that much?

Can I deal with hurting my friends?

 _Molly had made her decision then, texting Anthea and informing her 'thank you very much, and I accept Mr. Holmes' offer."_

Back then, Molly had been absolutely sure of her decision. She loved Sherlock with all of her heart- it wasn't a simple fangirly infatuation, but she knew that it was real love- the deepest, purest, and fieriest form of it.

Molly had never been the same once she first laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes.

He said "hello" to her, and she forgot her own goddamned name as she gazed into intelligent- far too intelligent- eyes resting in a lean, hunger-panged frame.

He set her heart aflame that day- and it burned with a feverish, pure flame of deep and unconditional love.

 _Oh, this is no game. No flirtations or infatuations. There are no rules here. This is love._

But Molly had thought she was capable of indirectly hurting her friends. Now? Not so much.

Her heart cracked a little each time that she saw one of Sherlock's friends and the pain that they were surely undergoing.

She wasn't sure when he was going to come back, but it was going to be a lengthy time.

A long, long silence was coming, and Molly Hooper was going to do her best to prepare for it.

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 _Please, please, review! It gives me hope that someone likes my stories. :)_


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